"She's a beauty," I remarked to Jim as we rode back to Manor House with Jim leading Susie beside Jupe.

"She sure is," Jim agreed.  "Trixie fell in love with her the moment she saw her.  It was Dad's idea that we hire her for the weekend.  He can't thank Trixie enough for everything she's done for our family."

"I know she found you and that she and Honey convinced the Wheeler's to adopt you," I replied with a slight frown.  "But you make it sound as if she saved the world."

"Well, she saved my life and she pretty much saved Honey's," Jim answered seriously.  "Miss Trask told me Honey was quite ill before they moved to Manor House, and she was pretty much afraid of everything.  I have to admit she was very timid when I first met her, but Trixie really brought her out of her shell."

"So I guess she did change the world," I mused with a small smile.  "She's changed a lot herself this summer.  Mart and I barely recognised her when we came home."

"She's pretty special," Jim admitted and reddened slightly.  "But I'm guessing you feel the same thing about my sister."

It was my turn to blush.

"Well, I don't know her as well as you know Trixie," I muttered and reached down to adjust the stirrup.

"I've seen the way you look at her," Jim teased.  "I've also seen the way Mart looks at her."

"Tell me about it," I grinned.  "I might have a fight on my hands."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Jim replied with a smile.  "I've seen the way she looks at you."

My heart suddenly jumped from my chest to my mouth and I felt rather warm.  I glanced around, trying to appear casual, as my heart beat a million beats per minute.

"Here comes Trixie," I almost shouted with relief and Jim's head turned quickly.

Trixie met them as she was crossing the driveway on her way to the path that led down to the hollow.  She had changed into dungarees and a clean shirt and the sight of the lovely little black mare lit up her face with joy.

"Oh, Susie," she cried, throwing her arms around the horse's glossy neck. "You lovely, beautiful, gorgeous thing! Please, Jim, may I ride her right this minute?"

"No bareback riding on rented horses," a voice said from the stable. Regan joined us, grinning.

"Oh, Regan," Trixie said. "I'm so glad you're back. This is my brother, Brian."

I leaned down from the saddle to shake hands with the pleasant-faced groom. "Boy, it's great to meet you, Regan."

"The pleasure is mine," Regan said with a friendly smile. "Is Mart the blond boy with the crew cut who's down at the boathouse with Honey?"

"That's right," Trixie said.

Dammit!  Mart sure doesn't waste any time.  How did he manage to get Honey alone at the boathouse, in her bathing suit?

"Except for the difference in height," Regan said, "you look enough alike to be twins. But you and Brian don't look at all alike. You take after your father, don't you, fella?" he asked me.

"I'm supposed to," I nodded, slightly distracted.

"It's hard to believe," Trixie teased. "Dad's a very good-looking man."

"And your mother is a very pretty lady," Regan said. "It kills me to admit it, Trixie, but you look enough like her to be her own daughter." His green eyes twinkled. "If you ever become a lady, which I very much doubt, people might even call you pretty."

Trixie blushed and it was hard not to miss Jim's admiring gaze.

"I have no intention of becoming a lady," Trixie said impudently. "Ladies sit around sewing—" She stopped, remembering where the diamond was.

"You couldn't sit still long enough to thread a needle," Regan was saying in his cheerful voice. "Some day you're going to have to acquire patience. All you kids should learn to drive cars while you're in high school. Hear Dick's going to give you a lesson tomorrow, right?" he asked Jim.

"That's right," Jim said. "If he gets back."

"And why shouldn't he be back tonight?" Regan demanded, his freckled hands on his hips. "What's a black eye? I've had many a shiner in my time and never took up a busy doctor's time with it."

Mart and Honey suddenly appeared and joined us in front of the stable.  I shot Mart a dirty look which he deliberately ignored as Honey introduced him to Regan.

"Do I smell fried chicken, or is it wishful thinking?" He asked, shooting me a sly glance.

Honey sniffed. A delicious odor was wafting out from the kitchen. "You smell correctly," she told Mart. "Dinner must be almost ready. Come on, we'd better change into dry clothes."

I gulped.  Her wet t-shirt was clinging to her body, the small swell of her breasts clearly evident underneath.  I could kill that little...

"Dinner at this unfashionable hour, Honey?" Regan asked in surprise. "Since when? It's only six-thirty."

"Just for tonight," Honey explained. "We want to go for a ride through the woods at eight, if it's all right with you, Regan."

"It's fine with me," he said, "if you all groom your horses when you come back. I've got to drive Celia and the cook into the village, if Dick doesn't show up, and drive them back again. They're going to the movie at the Cameo. Thought you kids might be planning to take it in, too."

"We're going tomorrow night," Honey told him. "The radio said it's going to rain, so we thought we'd better ride while we can."

"The horses need exercise, all right," Regan said. "What's the matter with you kids? You used to live in the saddle."

"It's been so hot," Honey explained quickly. "But now that Brian and Mart are home, we'll be sure to ride the horses enough. We'll take turns after Susie goes back to Mr. Tomlin."

"I have a feeling Susie is here to stay," Regan said mysteriously.

"Oh, Regan," Trixie cried excitedly. "What makes you think so?"

He hummed softly to himself and strode into the tack room. Trixie raced after him. "Don't be like that, Regan," she begged. "Is there really any chance that the Wheelers are going to keep five horses after this?"

He hummed a few more bars of the tune, then said, "If you can keep secrets from me, Trixie Belden, I guess I can keep one little secret from you."

Trixie's cheeks flamed. "I don't know what you're talking about," she mumbled unhappily.

Regan hummed while Jim and I put the three horses in their stalls.  I dragged Jim away when I noticed that both Mart and Honey had disappeared up to the house and we went to wash up before dinner.

When we reached the dining room I found that Mart had already seated himself next to Honey.  I glared at him and took a seat opposite Honey, while Jim sat opposite Trixie.

"Just put everything on the table, Celia," Miss Trask was saying. "Then you and Cook run up and dress for the movies. Helen and Marjorie can do the dishes tonight. I'll send them home in a taxi if Regan isn't back in time."

"Thank you, Miss Trask," Celia said. "It isn't often that we can take in the early show." She hurried through the swinging door to the kitchen.

"What I want to know," Mart said, hungrily eying the enormous platter of fried chicken, "is why the cook hasn't got a name like everyone else around here." He smiled at Miss Trask. "It's none of my business, but I'm curious about the private life of the 'feelthy' rich."

Miss Trask smiled back at him. "There's a very simple explanation, Mart. So far, we have never been able to keep a cook long enough for all of us to remember her name."

Honey giggled. "Mother calls them all Rachel although we've had six different ones since Rachel quit. It was Daddy who hit on the idea of calling them all plain 'Cook.' They don't seem to mind, Mart."

"You ought to hire a chef," he said. "Men are more stable than women."

"Will you stop using big words?" Trixie exploded. "It's getting tiresome. Didn't you have anything to read at camp but a dictionary?"

He glared at her. "What was big about that one? Two little syllables. And surely, a famous equestrienne like you must know the definition of stable when it's a noun."

I rolled my eyes.  It didn't take long for Trixie and Mart to fall back into their old rhythm.  I caught Honey's eye and she smiled shyly at me.

"I know both definitions," Trixie informed him. "But why couldn't you have simply said that men are more re­liable than women? Not that they are."

Mart appealed to Miss Trask. "How do you like that? She bawls me out for using big words, then suggests that I use one with four syllables instead of two?"

Miss Trask chuckled. "Maybe Trixie thinks you should use more familiar words, Mart."

"Nothing could be more familiar to her," Mart said with a grin, "than the word, stable. Honey just had to drag her out of one so we could eat."

"Equestrienne," Trixie said suddenly. "Why couldn't you have simply said that I'm a famous horseback rider?"

"Not that you are," Mart returned. "And if I had known that you were familiar with the word, I would never have applied it to you."

"I give up," Trixie groaned. "Let's eat."

The conversation lulled as we all ate, and for once I was glad of Mart's veracious appetite.  His table manners were sure to turn Honey off him, and I was suddenly glad that I got to sit opposite her and found myself the recipient of her warm smile.

My attention was soon drawn to the silent conversation taking place between Jim and Trixie when she suddenly kicked me under the table.  I looked up in surprise and she shot me an apologetic glance.  Were they playing footsies underneath the table?  I wonder if I could...

"Would anyone like dessert?" Miss Trask asked.

Even Mart groaned.  We had all stuffed ourselves on the fried chicken.

We cleared the table, and I insisted upon helping the maids with the dishes and so did Mart.

"We're experts," Mart said, tying a ruffled apron on over his jeans. "Human dishwashing machines. That's the kind of camp we went to."

"I can make people stop using that old saying about the pot calling the kettle black," I said, vigorously scrubbing the huge copper frying pan. . "If I could be everywhere at once, there would be no such thing as a black kettle."

"Go along with you," plump Helen said, giggling. "Marjorie and I can do better without you big boys crowding around the sinks."

"That we can," Marjorie agreed, snatching her apron off Mart. "But we thank you kindly just the same."

Mart bowed. "Say no more. We can take a hint. We know when we're not wanted." 

Mart and I stalked out the back door, pretending to be very hurt.

"Don't you think for one minute that I don't know what you're up to," I warned him.

"I don't know what you mean," Mart replied with a sly grin.

The others soon found us waiting for them outside the kitchen door. 

"I'm so full of food I can hardly walk, let alone ride horseback," Jim said as we strolled toward the stable.

"Me, too," we chorused.

"I really ought to go home and get that diamond," Trixie said, and explained to Jim and I. "Do you think it's safe in my sewing basket?"

"Gosh, I don't know," I replied worriedly. "Did you say, Mart, that the pincushion showed signs of having been manhandled by Bobby?"

Mart nodded. "Anything stuffed, whether it be in the form of fruit or wild beast, sooner or later loses its stuffing if Bobby has anything to do with it. The strawberry pin­cushion bore his mark—a hole in the head."

"Not that strawberries have heads," Trixie said. "But we get the idea, professor. What are you leading up to, Brian?"

"Just this," I said. "If the pincushion bears Bobby's mark, it may mean that he knows it belongs to you. He may well have gouged a hole in it, sometime or other, to pay you back for something you did to him."

"Gleeps," Mart howled. "I should have thought of that. I know that age group only too well. They're uncivilized little savages. Especially when seeking revenge upon older persons; and more especially, poor, hard-working, well-meaning junior counselors. Take my knapsack, for instance—"

"Never mind, never mind," Trixie interrupted. "Just run along and put the diamond in some other, safer, place. We'll wait right here for you. In fact the saddle blankets and take a nap while you're gone."

"Is that so?" Mart grabbed one of her short sandy curls and gave it a gentle yank. "If you're so smart, you can go and retrieve the diamond yourself."

"Better not stand around arguing about it," I advised them. "Bobby's favorite time for committing vandalism, if I seem to remember, is after he's supposed to be tucked safely in bed." 

I pointed to the clock on the tack room wall. "It's almost eight."

"You're so right," Trixie moaned. "We may already be too late. Come on, Mart, please come with me. I couldn't stand it alone if that diamond has disappeared again."

Mart and Trixie raced off home and I sighed in relief.  I never thought I'd actually get rid of him.  Jim discretely disappeared to saddle up the horses, leaving Honey and I in the tack room.

I was suddenly at a loss for words.  I grinned awkwardly at Honey and she smiled shyly in return.

"Jim's hoping that you'll be in the same class together when school goes back," she told me softly.

"I hope so too," I replied earnestly.  "He's a great guy."

"He thinks the world of you too, and Mart," Honey smiled, then giggled.  "And especially Trixie."

"I never thought I'd see my sister interested in a boy," I laughed.  "Not unless she thought she could do something better than them."

"She and Mart are quite competitive, aren't they?" Honey asked.  "They're so similar."

"And Mart missed her like crazy," I remarked.  "Not that he would have admitted it."

"She missed you too," Honey told me.  "I'm so glad I met all of you.  It's going to be so much fun living here and going to school with you all."

I nodded and suddenly thought of all the attention she would attract at school.  Not only was she the daughter of one of the state's richest men, she was very, very pretty.  I swallowed hard.

"We don't get to spend much time with our friends from school because we live so far out of the village," I mumbled.  "I guess we'll all be spending a lot of time together."

"I'm looking forward to it," Honey replied softly and our eyes met.  My heart beat quickened and I could feel the heat creeping into my face again. 

Trixie and Mart suddenly entered the tack room and Mart shot me a suspicious look.  Trixie ignored us and handed Honey thread, needles, and pincushion and Jim reappeared at the sound of her voice.

"You take these," she giggled.  "At least you know what to do with them"

"You're to make the switch, Brian, old boy, old boy," Mart finished. "Trixie and I have had too many narrow escapes already." He wiped his moist brow on the sleeve of his shirt. "Whew! Suppose Dad had caught Trixie with that mending gear in her hand! Brother, would he ever have been suspicious."

Honey quickly and deftly repaired the ripped seam and handed the pincushion to me. "It all comes of being the eldest son," she said, smiling. "Are you going to slip this into your mother's sewing basket now, or in the dead of night?"

I groaned, and not just because of the touch of her hand against mine. "In the dead of night, I hope to be on hand to help catch our prowler." I glared at Mart. "If you think Dad's suspicions would have been aroused if he had caught Trixie with this feminine object, what's he going to think if he catches me with it?"

"If he does," Mart said cheerfully, "just nibble on it. In Alaska, strawberries do grow to that size."

"That's a big help," I said sarcastically. "Why don't you fly up to Juneau and get me a parka, so I can sneak into the house disguised as an Eskimo?"

"Don't be too long," Mart replied with a wide smile.  "Oh, and I believe there's a phone message for you.  Apparently Denise called for you."

I shot him an evil glance as I saw Trixie's eyebrows rise in surprise and Honey's eyes slowly drop from the floor.

"Denise?"  I heard Trixie ask as I left and I cursed Mart under my breath.

I hurried home and managed to slip in and out of the house without seeing Moms and Dad.  I rushed back to the stables, wondering what lies Mart had woven about Denise and I.

"Nothing to it," I said. "Nothing to it. Moms and Dad were upstairs put­ting Bobby back on top of the bed from his nest under it." 

I gave Honey his mother's pincushion, the tips of my fingers slowly brushing against her palm. "You'd better keep this. You're the only one of us who seems to have a rightful claim to such objects."

"It is exactly like the other one," Honey said, blushing slightly and cramming it into the pocket of her jeans. "Have you ever thought of what might happen, Brian, when your mother tries to stick a needle into the one that's half-filled with the diamond?'!

"That can't happen," Trixie said firmly. "It just can't Besides, Moms has one of her knitting fevers on now; and most of the day she's canning tomatoes. I doubt if she'll even look in her sewing basket until she's finished Bobby's sweater."

Honey handed me the reins to Starlight.

"I saddled Starlight for you," she said softly and I smiled my thanks.

We mounted and, with Jim and Honey leading the way, started along the trail that led through the woods. 

"I hope you're right," Mart said to Trixie. "Let's pray that Bobby doesn't yank all the straps off his sunsuits between now and Sunday."

"Do you think the mystery will be solved by then?" Trixie asked.

"I think our prowler will come back," he said, "if that's what you mean."

"And," I added, "if we haven't solved the mystery by the time the house party ends, we'll have to give the diamond to the police and confess our sins."

"I suppose so," Trixie said mournfully. "I'd like to know where Dick is now."

The trail ended at a quiet country lane which paralleled Glen Road on the other side of the woods. We galloped up to join Jim and Honey who had reined in their horses.

"When you have your driving lesson," Honey was telling Jim, "this is where Dick will take you. There's almost no traffic on it, and there's just that one farmhouse over there at the dead end of the road."

"That's right," I agreed. "At school the instructors took us out here for steering practice as soon as we knew how to shift gears." 

I turned to Jim to continue. "Say, that's an idea. If Dick doesn't come back tonight, I can show you the gear-shifting part of the course. There's nothing to it, really."

"Swell," Jim said. "I do want to get the hang of it all as soon as possible."

"How did it happen you never were exposed to the art of driving before?" Mart asked. "When I was ten I started plaguing Dad with questions until I got the general idea, and so did Brian."

Trixie cringed and shot Mart a look that he didn't see.

"My dad," Jim said in a low voice, "my own dad, died when I was ten."

Honey laid her hand lightly on his tanned arm. "Jim had a very mean stepfather, Mart," she said softly. "He wasn't the kind who answers boys' questions about gear-shifting."

Mart's face reddened with embarrassment. "Golly, Jim, I'm sorry," he mumbled. "That was a dumb question I asked you. But then, I'm dumb."

Jim turned around in the saddle to grin at him. "You're anything but that, Mart, and there's no reason for you to apologize. I'm too sensitive. Plenty of boys have had much worse breaks than I had, and very few of them could hope for the good luck of being adopted by such swell people as the Wheelers."

"Oh, Jim," Honey cried gently. "We were the lucky ones. I was the most miserable person in the world until I met you and Trixie."

He tapped her lightly on the cheek. "Don't correct your elders, little sister."

"Oh, woe," Trixie interrupted. "Here comes that nosy Mr. Lytell. Let's gallop off in all directions."

"What's eating you, Trixie?" I demanded. "He's a perfectly harmless character, and I'd like to say hello. You know, of course," he said to Jim and Honey, "that man on the gray mare owns the little Glen Road store?"

"That we do," Jim said emphatically. "In the days when I was a fugitive from my stepfather, he gave us some bad moments."

"Trixie's right," Honey added. "He's a nosy old gossip, but we've got to be polite. If it weren't for him, we wouldn't get the Sunday papers; and Regan would quit if he couldn't relax over the comics." She raised her voice and said pleasantly, "Good evening, Mr. Lytell. How is Belle bearing up during this hot, sultry weather?"

Mr. Lytell poked at his glasses with one hand and patted the mare's gaunt shoulder with the other. "She can hardly stand it," he told Honey. "But I always say, no matter how old a horse is, it should always have some exercise." 

He nearsightedly peered at Mart and I. "Why, hello, boys. Back from camp, eh?"

"That's right," I said. "Did you have a nice summer, sir?"

Belle stumbled to a stop on the other side of the country road, and hung her head dejectedly. 

"Well, yes and no," Mr. Lytell answered. "It's been so hot Belle and I only ride early in the morning or late in the evening." He gave Honey and Jim a sharp glance. "You kids been camping out in that old caretaker's cottage on the edge of your property?"

"Why, no," Honey said. "What made you think so?"

"Saw lights flickering in there Tuesday night," he said. "Any of you kids drive cars?"

"I can drive," I said, "but I'm not old enough, yet, to get a license. Why?"

"I was just wondering," the old storekeeper said. "Saw a jalopy parked by the road near your cottage, Honey, that same night. And then, early Wednesday morning, I saw it drive away."

"That's interesting," Trixie put in. "When you saw it leave Wednesday morning, Mr. Lytell, were there two men in the car or one?"

He stared at her suspiciously. "Who said there were any men in the car at all?"

Trixie laughed airily. "I never heard of a car driving off by itself before, Mr. Lytell. And it's obvious that someone who had engine trouble was forced to spend Tuesday night in the cottage."

"It isn't obvious at all," he said sourly. "A person with engine trouble— a decent person—would have gone up to the big house and asked permission to stay in the cottage until it was light enough to repair the engine."

"You forget, Mr. Lytell," I said quietly, "from the road, no one would have the vaguest idea that the cottage belonged to the Wheeler estate. If you can see it at all, it looks as though it's just an abandoned shack in the woods."

"I'm surprised you knew it was there," Jim added.

A pale flush spread up over Mr. Lytell’s prominent cheek­bones. "I notice things," he mumbled. "And I happened to notice that there was only one person in the car when it drove away early Wednesday morning. And, if you kids weren't camping out in the cottage Tuesday night, that per­son must talk to himself." He picked up the reins and nudged the old horse into a walk. "Belle and I heard voices when we rode by there just as it was getting really dark. Loud voices."

No one said a word until he disappeared from view. Then Trixie said triumphantly, "It's beginning to look as though my theory wasn't so dumb. Loud voices means quarrelling."

"But, Trixie," Honey pointed out, "your theory was that both men drove away after the fight." Suddenly she turned white. "Oh, I get it. The body of the other man was in the trunk of the jalopy."

"Let's leave corpses out of this," I said sternly. Without thinking, I shook my finger at Trixie. "We'll all have nightmares."

"I never brought corpses into it," Trixie told him tartly. "Take your stubby finger and shake it at Honey."

I was glad it was growing dark so they couldn't see my face redden in the darkness.  I had to be more careful.

"My latest theory is that one of the men was knocked out during the fight" Trixie continued.  "When he came to, his pal had already left in the car, so he had to hitchhike his way to wherever they were going."

"You know," Mart said thoughtfully, "it does sound like someone double-crossed his buddy and realized too late that he had departed without the loot."

"It doesn't make sense to me," I retorted. "If you had something I wanted, I'd knock you out and take it from you before I departed."

"Oh, for Pete's sake," Trixie interrupted. "Don't be idiots. Don't you realize that the diamond was only part of the loot? I think the two men had just robbed a safe or something. They got to quarrelling when they started to divvy up what they had stolen. That's when the diamond got ground into the mud floor of the cottage."

"I see what you mean," Honey said. "The diamond was probably in a ring and fell out of the setting during the fight. It looks like the kind of stone that belongs in an en­gagement ring." She frowned. "But then it wouldn't have been in a safe, Trixie. Ladies usually wear their engagement rings all the time, no matter how valuable the stone may be."

Trixie sighed. "Your mother wears hers all the time, but ours doesn't. Before she works in the garden she always takes it off. Anyway," Trixie continued, "Mr. Rubber Heels knocked his partner out and drove away with the loot. Later he discovered that the diamond wasn't in the setting of the ring; so he drove back to the cottage."

Honey nodded. "The second set of tire treadmarks and footprints on the shoulder of the road prove that part of your theory, Trixie. What you're leading up to, I suppose, is that when Rubber Heels came back, his partner had left the cottage; and you and I had already found the diamond."

"That makes some sense," Jim admitted. "Naturally, the double-crosser had no way of knowing whether or not his buddy was still in the cottage. So he sneaked up to the thicket, and when he heard your voices he hid there and soon found out exactly where Honey had put the diamond.'

"So he lurked in the woods near the house; all day, and realized that he couldn't possibly sneak in during the day with so many servants on the premises," I added my support to the theory.  "Thursday night he did sneak in, but Trixie's yell frightened him away."

"You're off your trolley," Trixie broke in. "In the first place, if he spent his time lurking in the woods, he couldn't have found out which room was Honey's. And, in the sec­ond place, a perfect stranger couldn't possibly have sneaked into the house Thursday night without Patch barking his head off. I keep telling you," she finished, "Dick's our man."

"She's right," Honey cried. "He lurked in the woods on Wednesday and heard us all talking about how much we needed a chauffeur. So he simply went back to the place where he had left the car and drove up to the garage on Wednesday evening to apply for the job, hoping that he'd be given a room on the third floor."

"Fine," Jim jeered. "Great. How did he get the letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney?"

Trixie sighed. "I wish you'd never seen that letter, Jim. It ruins everything." She straightened suddenly. "Maybe it was forged!"

"Listen, Trixie," Jim said with a sigh. "It takes time and practice to make a perfect copy of another person's signa­ture. Especially if you don't know who the person is and have no way of getting a sample of his signature."

Honey giggled. "He's right, Trixie," she said. "How could Dick have known that Mr. Whitney was a friend of Daddy's? And, even if he did, how could he have got hold of something with Mr. Whitney's signature on it to copy from? He produced that letter of recommendation the morning after we found the diamond.”

"I can't answer any of those questions," Trixie admitted, | "Let's ride. If we don't give these horses some exercise, Regan will be awfully, awfully surprised. He's suspicious enough, as it is."

It was dark when we finished grooming their horses. Regan came back from the village, then, with Celia and the cook in the Ford.

He put the car in the garage and called up the stairs. "Dick! You back?"

No answer. "Well, I like that," he grumbled. "For two cents I'd black his other eye. Tomorrow morning I'll have to go in for Helen and Marjorie, and, most likely, drive them home again."

"It's a shame," Honey said sympathetically. "I'll ask Miss Trask if they can take a taxi until Dick does come back."

"No, don't do that," Regan said. "Taxis, taxis! Rich as your dad is, Honey, I can't stand it. It's too extravagant." He grinned at them. "As long as you kids help me with the horses, I'll make out all right."

"Oh, we will," Trixie assured him. "I'll make sure that Susie is exercised and groomed and everything every day." She moved closer to him. "Ah, please, Regan, tell me the secret."

"Scat, all of you," he said, pretending to be very stern. "Next thing you know, Miss Trask will fire me for making you do my work!" Humming cheerfully, he climbed the stairs to his room.

"Let's raid the icebox," Jim said, staring up at the third floor windows. "Celia and the cook have retired for the night. And I trust, Nailor, too."

"He's probably hiding in one of the empty guest rooms," Trixie said. "Just waiting until we all go to bed. Then," she added in an ominous whisper, "he'll sneak into your room, Jim, chloroform you, and—"

"Stop it," Honey begged, shivering. "Do you really suspect Nailor again, Trixie?"

"No, I don't," she said, laughing. We all trooped into the kitchen. Jim hooked the screen door.

"Why don't you suspect him?" Honey asked. "You did once." ,

"I didn't know he was such a well-known character in the village, then," Trixie said, accepting the bottle of cold soda Jim handed her. "Besides, he couldn't sneak into the house without arousing Patch. The dogs don't like him. They growl at him whenever he comes near them, and the hackles rise on Reddy's neck when he tries to pet him."

"That's hard to believe," Mart said. "Why, Reddy is such a dope he'd lead a burglar right to the place where you keep the family silver, Honey."

"A burglar, yes; but Nailor, no," Trixie said. "Like Mr. Lytell, I notice little things like that. And the dogs adore Dick. They positively fawn on him. It's disgusting. All be­cause he bought them some bones in the village."

"Speaking of which," Jim said to Honey, "did you get the mail today? I expected a book on how to train pointers."

"Oh, I forgot," Honey gasped. "It was my turn, wasn't it?" She grabbed Trixie's hand. "Run down to the mailbox with me, won't you? I'm scared to go way down to the road alone now that it's dark."

"Skip it," Jim said. "Miss Trask probably got the mail. She usually does before dinner if we forget."

"Before dinner?" I asked. ''That mailman is a regular diller-dollar, ten o'clock scholar. He used to arrive in the morning; then it was changed to late afternoon, and now it's in the evening?"

"He still brings the mail, with the Sleepyside Sun, around five," Trixie told me. "Honey and Jim are supposed to take turns getting it, but Honey never remembers. When she forgets, Miss Trask goes down to the box for it just before dinner."

"I'll bet she didn't today," Honey said. "She was awfully busy. I'll go down now, Jim, if Trixie will come with me."

Jim grinned. "All right, it might teach you to remember. It just might. Here's a flashlight." He unlatched the door for them and I watched them disappear, a little hurt that Honey didn't ask me to accompany her.

They were back a few moments later and dumped the letters and packages on the kitchen table. "Ah, my book," Jim cried. "This will keep me awake all night."

"Is there anything there that'll keep us awake, Honey?" Trixie asked. "I just know Dick is going to come sneaking back at midnight."

Miss Trask called, then, from the top of the back stairs. "It's time you were all in bed. Come on up now. Leave that light over the sink, Jim; but turn out the others."

"Okay," Jim said. "Is Patch up there with you, Miss Trask?"

"No," she said. "I haven't seen him since you fed him."

Jim whistled a few times, and then they heard the puppy scratching and whining on the other side of the screen door. When Jim opened the door, Patch bounded in, slipped on the waxed linoleum, and skidded across the floor.

"He's just like Reddy," Trixie said, laughing. "Reddy does that every time. Is he going to sleep in your room to­night, Jim?"

"No, he sleeps on the porch," Jim said. "It almost completely encircles the house, you know; so if any stranger tried to get in through the doors or windows, Patch would hear him."

We headed up the stairs and said quiet goodnights.  I smiled at Honey as she disappeared into her room.

"Call me if anything happens Jim," I told him.

"Me too," Trixie added and Jim grinned at her.

"Goodnight.  I'll see you all in the morning."

I closed the door behind Mart as I followed into the bedroom opposite Honey's.

"Nice try," I told him.

"What?" He asked with a wide smile.

"You know exactly what I mean," I muttered as I pulled off my shirt.  "Why did you have to mention Denise?"

"Oh that!" Mart laughed.  "All's fair in love and war."

"This isn't a competition," I told him.  "She's a sweet, wonderful girl.  I don't want her getting hurt because you take this too far."

"Oooohhhh, you've got it bad," Mart sing-songed as he climbed into bed.

I threw a shoe at him and it missed and hit the closet with a bang.  Within moments, Jim was knocking on the door.

"Is everything okay in there?"

"We're fine Jim," I answered.  "Go back to bed."

I glared at Mart and turned off the light.

"Brian loves Honey, Brian loves Honey," Mart sang.

This time I threw my pillow at him, which landed square in his face.

"I'll keep that," he said smugly and I settled back on the bed, my head resting on my hands and my thoughts filled with only one thing.

Mart and I woke early on a steaming hot morning with the threat of rain hanging heavy in the air.

"You awake?" I asked Mart.  He grunted in response.

"I guess nothing happened last night," I sighed.  "Let's go and wake Jim and go down to the lake for a swim."

I swung my legs over the side of the bed and rummaged through our suitcase for my swimming trunks.  I dressed quickly, as did Mart, and we met Jim in the hallway.

"Did anything happen?" Mart asked immediately.

Jim shook his head.  "Let's go down to the lake.  The girls are still sleeping."

The screen door was still hooked as we left the house.

"So no intruders, nothing!" I sighed.  "I guess our theories were wrong."

"Trixie will have an explanation for it, just you wait and see," Mart predicted.  "Ugh, it's too hot to talk about it this morning.  Let's just swim."

We arrived at the lake to find Regan drying himself off.

"Morning boys," he grunted.

"Good morning Regan," I replied.  "I guess you had the same idea we had."

"I needed something to cool me off when I woke up this morning and found that Dick hadn't returned yet," he explained.  "I have to go into the village to pick up the staff.  I'll see you boys later."

We glanced at each other in surprise and watched as Regan strode off towards the house.

"What are we waiting for?" Mart cried and we dove eagerly into the lake's cool waters. 

We were floating lazily on the raft when Honey and Trixie arrived and I couldn't help but catch my breath at the sight of Honey in her bathing suit.  I glanced quickly at Mart to see if he had noticed my reaction, but he was too busy staring at Honey.

"Did anything happen last night?" They asked Jim in one breath.

"Not a thing," he called back, "except that Dick hasn't come back yet. And is Regan furious!"

"Regan," I explained, "was already in the lake when we got down here. Trying to cool off in more ways than one. He just went up to get dressed. He's got to go in for the maids and the laundress."

They swam out to the raft, and then Honey said, "Dick is going to be fired as soon as Daddy gets back. If you think Regan is angry, think what kind of a mood Daddy would be in if he knew the new chauffeur was AWOL so soon after being hired."

I offered my hand to Honey and pulled her up on the raft beside me as Jim helped Trixie.

"And all on account of one little black eye," Mart added. "What a sissy that guy must be."

"Don't be silly," Trixie said, shaking water out of her ear by hopping up and down on the raft. "Dick didn't go off on account of his black eye. He went off for some other reason, and it has something to do with the mystery."

"What, exactly?" Mart demanded. "Elucidate, my dear Holmes."

She whirled on him, and he pretended to cringe with fright. "I take elucidate back," he howled. "I take it all back. What I meant was, explain, make clear your state­ment, Miss Belden."

Trixie giggled. "I can't explain, make clear, or elucidate. I just feel it in my bones."

Mart groaned. "Feminine intuition. Gleeps, noodlehead, spare us that."

"I'll spare you that and a lot more," Trixie said tartly. "I was just going to explain, make clear, and elucidate to you about the letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney. But since I'm a noodlehead, I'd better keep it to myself."

"I modify that statement," Mart said promptly. "You're not a noodlehead; you're merely equipped with scrambled brains."

"Scrambled eggs would be nice now," Jim said with a grin. "And here come Miss Trask and Celia with the where­withal." He dove off the float and, with his fast crawl, struck cleanly through the water toward the boathouse.

We all followed him and a few minutes later were busy preparing breakfast. With everyone helping, they soon had a feast spread out on the table on the boathouse porch.

"Honey," Mart said approvingly, "is hereby elected chief waffle-maker of the club." He waved a skewer at Trixie. "And you, addlebrain, are the barbecue chef."

"I told you Honey and I are marvelous cooks," Trixie said smugly.

"Oh, let's do have a club," Honey interrupted. "When I was in boarding school, I was always reading books about boys and girls who were members of secret clubs and had such fun." She added wistfully, "I never thought the day would come when I might belong to one."

"The Riders of the Glen, that's what we are," Mart yelled excitedly. "R.O.G. We'll call ourselves the Rogues."

"Speak for yourself, knave," I said with a chuckle. "Just because you're a rascal, doesn't mean the rest of us are.'

'Couldn't we be sort of Robin Hoods or something like that?" Honey asked. "The name of the red trailer was the Robin, you know. And the Darnells were the kind of people Robin Hood would have helped in olden times."

"We're better at riding than we are at archery," Mart objected.

"And we think of ourselves as detectives," Jim added, grinning, "although we didn't prove much last night."

" 'If at first you don't succeed, try, try again,'" Trixie chanted. "Canadian mounties are sort of detectives on horse­back. And, in a way, they're modern Robin Hoods. Their motto isn't simply 'get your man.' They are trained to give help to anyone who needs it."

"How educated can we get?" Mart asked. "Where did you pick up that knowledge, Trix?"

"In a book," she informed him airily. "Just because I can't thread a needle doesn't mean I can't read."

"You've got an idea," Honey said. "We can't be Canadian mounties, but when we have secret meetings we could wear special red jackets which I can make easily. We might call ourselves the Glen Road Robins, and we could have the cottage for our clubhouse."

"Swell," Jim put in. "Brian, Mart, and I can fix the roof and put new panes of glass in the windows. But let's not be robins, let's be bobwhites." He whistled. "Bob-white. Bob-white. Remember, girls, that was our signal when I was hiding from Jonesy."

"That's right," Trixie cried. "And don't they flock to­gether in little groups called bevies? Instead of having a meeting, we could have a bevy, which would be more mys­terious."

"Bobwhites are quails," Mart said, chortling. "And quail with surprise every time Trixie says something makes sense." He turned to Honey. "Bob is sort of a nickname for Robin. Are you happy about the whole thing?”

"Oh, yes," Honey said. "Bobwhites of the Glen! B.W.G.   Nobody could ever guess what those initials stood for. I'll cross-stitch them in white on the back of our red shirts."

"A motto," I said. "We should have a motto!"

"How about thinking of ourselves as one big family?" Honey asked. "I mean, we're all brothers and sisters, and if one of us is ever in need, we'll never fail him or her?"

"I like that a lot," Jim said slowly. "If all the world had the same motto, there'd never be any wars."

"I'm all for it," I said. "Mart and I could use another, brother like you, Jim, and another sister like you, Honey.”

Well, not quite like a sister, I thought to myself.  Mart must have read my mind.

"I agree for the same reasons," Mart said, his blue eyes twinkling. "Honey and Trix sort of cancel each other out, so it makes it almost bearable having a sister. That's how I feel."

Trixie tossed her sandy curls as she stacked the paper plates. "If you're stuck with three brothers you might as well have one more. And Honey and I have felt like sisters ever since we first met, haven't we, Honey?"

Honey nodded, her hazel eyes filmed with tears of hap­piness. "It's all like a dream coming true. I can't believe it! A secret club and—well, just everything I always wanted."

We talked more about our newly formed club as we cleaned up the boathouse.

"The first favor I'm going to ask of my new brother, Brian, is a driving lesson," Jim grinned.  "How about it?"

"Swell," I said. "If you haven't mastered the art of gear-shifting in an hour, I'll chew Honey's bathing cap and blow bubbles with it."

We hurried off up the path toward the garage before I could hear Mart's retort.  Jim and I passed by the stables on the way.

"Regan, do you need the car?" Jim asked.  "Brian's going to teach me how to shift gears."

"I think I'm done for now," Regan groaned.  "Wasn't Dick supposed to teach you?"

"Yeah, but he's not here," Jim shrugged.

"I don't mind," I added.  "I have a feeling Jim's going to be a natural.  We'll be back later for a ride."

My feeling proved to be correct, because Jim was soon shifting gears like a professional.

"You are a natural," I told him in admiration.  "It took me about a day and a great deal of Dad's patience before I mastered it."

"Maybe it's just the teacher," Jim grinned.  "I really appreciate your help."

"Anytime," I told him and then turned to him hesitantly.  "Can I ask you a question?"

"Shoot."

"Did you have a girlfriend back in Albany?" I asked, reddening slightly.

"Who wants to know?" Jim laughed.

"Just me," I answered quickly.  "I don't what Mart said to you all yesterday about Denise, but it's not true."

"He didn't say anything much," Jim assured me.  "But what are you getting at?"

"It's just that..." I hesitated and rubbed my jaw slowly.  "I've never had a girlfriend before and I was wondering if you had."

"I can't help you. I'm afraid," Jim admitted with a smile.  "I guess we're in the same boat."

"Well, Trixie's never had a boyfriend," I told him.  "In fact, she was never even interested in guys until..."

Jim raised his eyebrows.  "Until what?"

"Well, until you came along," I finished awkwardly and Jim allowed himself a small smile.

"I don't know for sure," Jim began, "but I doubt Honey's ever had a boyfriend either.  I'm pretty sure she likes you though."

"I never paid too much attention to girls in that way," I confessed.  "At least, not until now."

"Yeah, me too," Jim laughed.  "So you think we can double date sometime?"

"I'd like that," I smiled.  "But what am I going to do with Mart?  I'd have to lock in up somewhere."

"I'm sure Mart would accept defeat gracefully," Jim laughed.  "Well, I'd guess we'd go and catch up with the others for our ride.  I'm not sure if I can hold the reins though, my hand is killing me."

Jim and I headed to the stables, but the others had not yet arrived.  We saddled the horses as we waited for them and I tried to console myself that at least Trixie was with Mart and Honey.  Just as we were finishing, the three of them arrived.

"Oh, for the feel of solid reins in my hands again," Jim said ruefully as he mounted Jupe. "And stirrups for my aching feet. I wouldn't be a chauffeur if you paid me."

"We don't want you to get paid for that" Mart said, grinning. "How do your aching hands and feet feel about farming on a small scale? A vegetable garden for your very own?"

"Lead me to it," Jim said, brightening. "Anything to get away from the smell of gasoline."

Mart explained while they rode through the woods. "We'll need at least fifteen dollars to make the cottage rain­proof," he finished. "There are three of us boys. Do you think Miss Trask would pay us what Dad pays Trix, Jim? Five dollars a week for keeping the lawns and the vegetable garden out of Nailor's hair?"

"I know she would," Jim said. "It would be worth more than fifteen dollars a week to keep Nailor happy. I think Miss Trask herself would resign if she had to try and find another gardener. And Nailor is complaining about the work."

Honey nodded. "I heard him grumbling to Miss Trask this morning. I got the idea that he likes working with the flowers and shrubs but is slightly allergic to lawns and vegetables."

"This job business," Jim said, "is the best idea anyone ever had. I've been on vacation too long now. But, Mart, since you're the one who's going to agricultural college, wouldn't you like to take over the vegetables?"

"But how about you, Jim?" Mart asked. "You spent a lot of your life on a farm, didn't you?"

Jim nodded. "I can also mow lawns. Which job do you prefer, Mart?"

"Gee, Jim," Mart cried, "you know I like to grub around with vegetables. My fingers itch to get out there with a hoe and hill up your potatoes."

"Then it's settled," Jim said. "Take your itching fingers to the vegetable garden whenever you feel like it."

"Charity begins at home," Trixie said. "Our own potatoes will need hoeing soon again."

"That's your job," Mart said airily. "I wouldn't think of doing you out of it."

"Thanks," Trixie said. She giggled. "I can't help thinking it's funny. Jim has half a million dollars in stocks and bonds, and yet he's going to mow lawns for five dollars a week."

"It's not funny at all," Jim told her. "You know perfectly well I'm not going to touch a cent of the money I inherited until I'm ready to start my boys' school." He flicked a deer fly from Jupe's glossy, black neck. "And as for Honey, it's great that she's going to have a chance to earn some money."

"I'm so excited I won't be able to thread a needle when the time comes," Honey said. "Do you really think your mother will hire me, Trixie?"

"I'll let you in on a little secret," Trixie said, chuckling. "Moms likes to sew and knit, but she does not like to mend. Especially during the canning season. Monday is her birthday. The nicest present Dad could give her would be you for the next few weeks. I'm going to call him up and suggest it when we get back."

"Brother!" Mart yelled. "Monday is Moms's birthday. I haven't bought her a thing. Have you, Brian?"

"No," I admitted. "But Trixie has a plan. You know how Moms hates to have us spend our hard-earned cash on presents for her."

"That's right," Trixie said. "So, from now until school starts, I thought we'd take turns doing all the cooking. You learned how at camp, and, when I make up my mind to it, I'm not too bad myself."

Mart chortled. "Let's not have broiled tomatoes every meal you cook. Honey must teach you how to make waffles."

He patted Trixie's cheek affectionately. "All kidding to one side, Sis, it's a great idea. You can fix breakfast; I'll do lunch, and Brian can cook supper. He does something to spareribs that makes my mouth water. We'll have them every night. They're cheap."

"I wish I could do something like that for my mother," Honey said quietly. "It's so hard to buy her anything, and so silly, too. Whenever she wants anything, she buys it herself."

I looked at the sad expression on Honey's face.  Her past seemed to haunt her as much as Jim's did.

"I know something you could do for your mother," Trixie said. "Your handwriting is beautiful, and she gets an awful lot of letters from people asking for donations to their pet charities. A lot of the mail we brought up from the mailbox last night looked like appeals for money. You could answer them for her, Honey. Miss Trask couldn't possibly have time to."

"It's a wonderful idea," Honey cried. "I can even draw the checks and have them all ready for her to sign. I know about how much she gives to each charity. Why, I could be sort of a private secretary, couldn't I?"

"That's right," Trixie said. "And you could do the same thing for your father. His own secretary at the office in New York must be pretty busy. Speaking of which," she went on, turning to Jim, "did anybody check up on Dick's letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney?"

We all stopped our horses in a little clearing in the woods and stared at Trixie.

"Why, I don't know what you mean," Jim said. "It was one of those TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN things. Typewritten. But Dad certainly knows Mr. Whitney's signature when he sees it. They've been corresponding for years. Why should anyone check?"

"I'd like to see that signature," Trixie said mysteriously. "And I'd also like to know, Honey, if your father was expecting a letter from Mr. Whitney which he never got."

Honey stared at Trixie. "What are you talking about? What makes you think Daddy was expecting a letter from Mr. Whitney?"

"Well, was he, or wasn't he?" Trixie asked.

"I don't know," Honey said. "Daddy was on vacation, you know, until he was suddenly called to Chicago. His secretary forwarded any letters she couldn't answer herself up here. He might have been expecting one from Mr. Whitney which didn't arrive until after he left. But what difference does it make, Trixie? It couldn't have been important. They don't correspond about business. They just write to each other arranging to meet for luncheon or for fishing or hunting trips and things like that."

"I see," Trixie said, turning back to Jim. "Since that letter of recommendation wasn't personal, do you think I could see it? It was just written to 'whom it may concern,' wasn't it?"

"That's right," Jim said. "It was really just the simple kind of reference that most employers give their employees when they're honorably discharged. You know. 'This is to certify that Richard Blank worked for me as a chauffeur for the past three years. I found him honest, industrious, and satisfactory in every way.' So what?"

"So it's all right for me to look at it, isn't it?" Trixie asked.

"Perfectly all right," Jim said, "except that I haven't got it. Dad was in such a hurry when he left Thursday morning, he glanced at it, showed it to me, and then tossed it into a pigeonhole of his desk."

"I dare you to look for it," Trixie said.

"Well, I won't." Jim picked up his reins. "You're suffering from heat exhaustion, Trixie, but you don't know it. Let's go home and take a swim in the lake before lunch."

Trixie leaned from her saddle to grab his arm. "Please look for it, Jim. It may be important."

He glared at her, but I caught the look on his face when she touch him. "It would have to be important Anytime I go rummaging through the papers in Dad's desk, you'll know I'm crazy with the heat."

Trixie sighed. "I was afraid you'd say that. Just skip it."

No one said anything while we trotted their horses back to the stable. Regan took one look at the girls' hot, perspiring faces and reached for their horses' bridles.

"Slide off and get into swimming clothes," he told them. "I'll groom Lady and Susie."

"Oh, thanks, Regan," Honey said, quickly dismounting. "This must be the hottest day of the summer."

"It only seems that way," he said, "because a thunderstorm is brewing." He glanced up at the puffy white clouds in the blue sky. "The radio was right for once. We'll get rain this evening."

"I hope it doesn't rain this afternoon," Jim said. "I'm looking forward to my steering lesson. Maybe when I do some real driving, all that gear-shifting business will make sense."

"From the way Jim talks," I laughingly said to Regan, "you'd think he wasn't my prize pupil. He'll be driving circles around us in no time."

"He can have my license any time he wants it," Regan said, slipping a halter over Susie's head. "Now that Dick knows a little something of what this job is like, he isn't so crazy about it. But he's bound and determined to give you a driving lesson this afternoon, Jim. While Miss Trask was buying all the food in the village, he came back and polished the sedan. I'll say that for him."

Trixie and Honey hurried into the house to change into bathing suits while we groomed our horses and helped Regan with Lady and Susie.  We were dripping with perspiration by the time we finished and headed up to the house to change for a swim.

As we walked down the hall to our rooms, we saw Trixie and Honey hurry out of Jim's room and into the hall.

"What were you doing in my room?" Jim demanded suspiciously.

"It was my room until yesterday," Honey reminded him, smiling. "Hurry up and change, boys. We'll only have time for a dip before lunch."

As Trixie tried to dart by him, Mart stopped her. "The cat that swallowed the canary," he said, "couldn't have looked more guilty. What have you two been up to?"

"None of your business," Trixie retorted. "Let me go. It's too hot for you to display your brotherly love of me."

Mart snorted. "Remember the motto of our club—just one big, happy family. That means no secrets. The word is written plainly on both of your girlish faces. S-e-c-r-e-t-s!" He gave Trixie a little shake. "Give."

Trixie pulled away from him, but before she could say anything, Jim interrupted. "Something is rustling inside my scrap basket," he said, striding across the room to the desk. "Aha," he went on. "Crumpled paper. Shall we examine it, men?"

"By all means," Mart said. "By all means. They were trespassing, weren't they?"

"Jim Frayne," Honey screamed. "If you look at those papers, I'll—I'll never forgive you."

He shook with laughter. "That does it. I was only teasing before, but now—"

"Now," I said, "we had better investigate further."

I strode over to the scrap basket and yanked out the ball of tracing paper. I tossed it to Mart who caught it expertly. Trixie made a dive for him, but he tossed it over her head to Jim who passed it along to me.

"Stop it," Honey begged. "It's too hot for dodge ball."

"I think you're all as mean as can be," Trixie cried angrily. "Especially Jim, who pretends to be so honorable all over the place. If you were the least bit honorable, you'd let us take those papers and go away."

"What?" Mart demanded. "Are there more of them? The plot thickens. What were you doing?"

"Writing poison letters, of course," Trixie said.

"Gleeps," Mart yelled. "I wash my hands of the whole matter!"

Trixie pushed by him. "I'm going downstairs and telephone Dad about Moms's birthday present. If you delay me one more minute, he'll be out to lunch, and he'll probably buy her something in the village. Honey," she added over her shoulder, "keep them from reading those poison letters if it's the last thing you do. We don't want to lose all of our dear, dear brothers."

"C'mon sis, spill," Jim demanded as soon as Trixie had gone.

"You promise you won't get mad?" Honey cried.  "Trixie's going to be upset that I told you."

"Trixie will get over it," I assured her with a smile.  "Just tell us what this is."

I smoothed out the ball of paper and saw the writing on it.

"It has your mother's signature on it," I remarked.  "What does this have to do with anything?"

"It's not Mother's signature, it's mine," Honey explained with a smile.  "That's my real name.  Trixie was trying to show me how you can copy someone's signature using carbon paper.  You're holding the copy.  See how the M and W are sort of blurred?  Trixie thinks if you checked the signature on Dick's letter from Mr Whitney, you'll see the same thing."

I glanced up at Jim, who leaned over to take a better look at the paper.

"You know, I hate to say this," he began, " but Trixie might actually be on to something here.  I'm going to check that letter."

"Wait a second!" Mart cried.  "You might want to look for something else first."

"What do you mean?" Jim demanded.

"Take a look around," Mart replied.  "The jewellery box is gone!"